Page 167 - THE ISLAND OF DR MOREAU

The Island of Doctor Moreau

XIX. MONTGOMERY’S ‘BANK
HOLIDAY.’

WHEN this was accomplished, and we had washed and

eaten, Montgomery and I went into my little room and
seriously discussed our position for the first time. It was
then near midnight. He was almost sober, but greatly
disturbed in his mind. He had been strangely under the
influence of Moreau’s personality: I do not think it had
ever occurred to him that Moreau could die. This disaster
was the sudden collapse of the habits that had become part
of his nature in the ten or more monotonous years he had
spent on the island. He talked vaguely, answered my
questions crookedly, wandered into general questions.
‘This silly ass of a world,’ he said; ‘what a muddle it all
is! I haven’t had any life. I wonder when it’s going to
begin. Sixteen years being bullied by nurses and
schoolmasters at their own sweet will; five in London
grinding hard at medicine, bad food, shabby lodgings,
shabby clothes, shabby vice, a blunder,— I didn’t know
any better,—and hustled off to this beastly island. Ten
years here! What’s it all for, Prendick? Are we bubbles
blown by a baby?’

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